


Safe Room

by melonsflesh



Series: Smoochtober 2018 [3]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), and people remember him, or getting there relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 08:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonsflesh/pseuds/melonsflesh
Summary: Thirty minutes away from his first live interview in months, Akechi is a shaky assembly of bones. Thankfully, someone is there to help him breathe easier.





	Safe Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarumilovemail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarumilovemail/gifts).



> This is for [Mimi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saruhiko_bb/pseuds/saruhiko_bb) who requested shuake + prompt #7 (kiss on the forehead) for Smoochtober on Twitter. Infinite thanks to her for being my beta at the same time and helping me LOTS. THANK YOU! ;O; ♥

“Ah!”

_Oh, no._

“Don’t move,” said the stylist upon patting her waist and finding nothing there. “I left the hair spray at Higuchi-san’s!”

Ah, Higuchi-san. All Akechi knew about them was that they were the other guest currently giving an interview for the TV show he’d accepted making a live appearance on after almost five months avoiding the public eye.

“I’ll be right back, Akechi-kun,” she told him from the door before leaving him in the solitude of his dressing room.

_‘Don’t move’, she said._

Depending on how strictly she meant that, it was going to be both easy and hard.

Akechi could barely will his body to move like he wanted to. Did she not notice the way his jaw trembled? The never-ending clatter of his teeth?

He let out a deep sigh, grimacing at the way it came out trembled and bumpy, unbefitting of the charming, regal persona he’d built around himself these past few years.

It was when he threw his head back against the chair that his eyes caught on the light bouncing off the familiar metallic spray sitting on the countertop, next to a jumble of different shades of concealer, lipsticks, hairpins and open makeup pouches.

Akechi willed his legs to hold him up and walked out the dressing room.

“Kawasaki-san, the hair spray is here.”

Some small, innocent part of him hoped the stylist he’d just met this morning was still in earshot so they could get this over with quickly. The other part of him — the dominant, down-to-earth one — preached what he’d already guessed; that the corridor was empty, and his voice reached no one.

“And I thought that was all natural.”

Akechi jumped at the voice, but it was a nice jump, the kind that made his chest expand and stop feeling like his ribs were squishing his lungs. A little smile found his lips on instinct.

Akira gave him a very purposeful once over, his gaze lingering on his hair for just a bit longer. He was just standing there in his uniform with his school bag on his shoulder, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a grocery bag.

Akechi shook his head at Akira’s jab, looking at him with lidded eyes. “It helps with the...” He raised a hand to his head, making a patting motion in the air without touching his hair.

“This?” Akira pointed at his own mess of curls.

“Yes, that.” Akechi lowered his hand. “Not everyone can pull off that Tangela look.”

Akira grinned, and  _God, let me breathe._  “A reference. Finally.”

Akechi looked off the side sheepishly. “I’m trying.” It was either living off his savings while mastering all the surprise video games Akira dropped at his cramped apartment — along with the surprise food, and the surprise gifts, and the surprise  _can I stay_ s that turned into surprise touches, surprise kisses—

_Okay. Focus._

It was all that, or succumbing to the destructive temptation of googling himself.

He ended up doing both, the video games thing and the googling thing, nothing short of a masochistic multitasker.

“ _And_ ,” Akira’s voice cut into his thoughts, “you're flattering me.”

Akechi chuckled. “I am merely stating the truth. Take it as you will.”

“Well, I’ll have you know it’s flattering.”

“Aren’t we beyond this?”

Akira didn’t reply, and just took a couple of steps closer. No  _‘Are you nervous?’_. No  _‘How are you feeling?’_. There was just no need for that. They had already had the talk the night before. Akechi had very begrudgingly admitted how unsettled he felt — it felt liberating afterwards, though — but he wanted to do this. So, there was no reason for him to dwell on the consequences of his decision  _again_ , right  _now_.

“You really came,” Akechi told him when they were finally face to face.

“Rude,” Akira said, but his lips curled into a smirk. “I told you I would come.” Akechi remained quiet, but the moment he opened his mouth to say something — he wasn’t sure  _what_  — Akira went on. “I know you’re used to expecting the worst, but...”

“But, I should not anymore, is what you want to say?”

“Hm.” Akira shrugged the shoulder that held his school bag. “Well, no. It’s hard, so, I get it.”

Akechi stayed silent again. It wasn’t just that it was  _hard_ , but their schedules just didn’t match. He didn’t think Akira would actually make it in time.

“It’s a week day.”

Akira nodded.

Akechi waited for Akira to put two and two together. School? Anyone?

“You had class today.”

Akira nodded. “I did.”

Akechi checked the time on his wristwatch. “Uh-uh.”

“I finished earlier.”

Akechi looked up and gave him a blank look. He lowered his arm. “You snuck out earlier.”

Akira shrugged. “Same thing.”

“It’s your third year.”

“Goro, it’s _Friday_ ,” Akira whined. “And it’s just one day out of, what, two-forty?”

“Up to two-fifty, yes.”

“Picky.”

“Akira—”

Akira swiftly took his hand out of his pocket and held it up. “Goro.” His tone turned stern, and there was no way Akechi’s voice could match it, so he just shut his mouth, finding he was actually pretty okay with Akira silencing him like that. “I wanted to come.”

Oh, Akechi knew that. Akechi  _liked_  him being there. His attempt at being the responsible one was all but an act, and if he was able to wing it it was only until Akira’s resolve came in.

A second later, Akira was smiling again and turning his hand vertical to his face, his shoulders hunching a little. “Please don’t arrest me again,” he said, playful and forgiving as only he could pull it off.

Akechi wanted to wipe that look off his face if only to see him make it again and again.

Instead, he lowered his gaze and shook his head, huffing out a little laugh. “I don’t have that authority anymore.”

He looked up in time to see Akira straighten up. “And if you did?”

“I... would find other ways to chastise you.”

Akira snorted a laugh. “That’s... that’s kind of promising and scary at the same time.”

Akechi rolled his eyes fondly, unable to bite back a smile from breaking over his anxiety-ridden face. “You’re unbelievable.” He motioned to the room. “Are you coming in or not?”

“Oh? Am I being lured into the famous Detective Akechi-kun’s room?”

“I’d hate to disappoint you, but it’s as mine as the last guest that used it, and the one before them.”

“I accept your invitation anyways.”

Akechi didn’t expect any intimacy between them here, but as Akira stepped a foot into the dressing room, their bodies were close enough to breathe each other’s air into their lungs. And when he stopped to look at Akechi in the eye, pink lips smirking and forming a hushed, “Pardon the intrusion,” Akechi felt a bit shivery. And maybe both a little lost and a lot found.

Akira’s presence did...  _things_.

How did he ever interact like a functional human being with this boy, again?

When he closed the door, he didn’t quite know what he expected Akira to do or say. He definitely wasn’t expecting to see him spinning his head all around the room, studying the few commodities it had to offer, eyes wide and searching as they slid over the cosmetics scattered across the countertop.

It was probably his fist time in such a place.

It was cute.

Akechi laid his eyes on the paper bag in his fist. “What’s that?”

Akira’s head snapped to him with owlish eyes, his eyebrows all high and lost even more into the fluff of his hair, looking as if he’d been caught doing something improper.

_Adorable._

“Oh,” Akira said, “yeah, for you.” He turned and held the bag up for Akechi to take it. “Gum. There’s cherry and mint. It helps with the nerves.”

“The nerves...” Akechi took the bag and looked inside it curiously. “Thank you?”

Akira looked weirdly satisfied. “No problem.”

As Akechi left his gift on the counter, Akira looked around the room once more to find a spot to leave his school bag, precisely at the feet of the extra chair Akechi had laid his briefcase on.

“You really rock that look, by the way.”

Akechi blinked at him, confused. “What?”

“You know, the whole—” Akira brought a hand to his face and made a motion as if to sweep his hair up, like a... what was he doing? “Tintin look.”

_What?_

“The... Tintin look.”

“Yeah.”

Nothing made sense until Akira pointed at the top of his head and Akechi took a hand to his forehead only to feel a bit of his soul slowly crawling out of his body when his fingers met skin.  _Skin_ , because that was his forehead, he was  _touching_  it, and he hadn’t really felt anything out of the ordinary before, but there _was_ something missing up there, huh?  _Ha, ha!_

A rueful, little smile found its way onto his lips as he let himself flop over his chair, his elbows hitting the countertop with a loud thud as he buried his face into his hands.

Akira laughed. “What, you didn’t find it the slightest bit breezy?”

“Shut up,” Akechi groaned into his clammy palms.

When he looked up, he let his body fall back against the chair with all the weight of his back, staring fixedly at the big mirror in front of them where his own reflection scowled back at him with bored eyes.

He didn’t like it, the way his bangs were pinned up with two small clips for he wasn’t sure how long. He never liked that. He felt if he left his hair like that for long enough it would curve at the ends, or worse, stay up indefinitely. Like a cartoon character’s. Like Tintin’s. Yet he didn’t take the clips out. Should he take them out? This was getting too deep. God, he was overthinking about hair clips.

Akira stood beside him. “Do you need makeup there, if your hair is going to get in the way?”

 _It keeps your skin tone even,_  the Detective Prince would say.

But the words died in his brain before they could reach his mouth.

One look at the boy beside him and Akechi Goro’s words came out unfiltered. “Imagine... this whole studio may well be about to be blown away by a typhoon anytime, exposing the imperfections of my ordinary human epidermis,” he quipped, raising his index finger lazily to complement his faux seriousness. “Looks above everything else.”

Akira’s reflection shook with a silent laugh, his eyes crinkling with mirth. It made Akechi feel a lot better. “You sound drunk.”

“Imagine.”

“If you go down, go down pretty. Got it.”

Akechi smiled at him before dropping his eyes back to himself.

Honestly, he didn’t really care about his hair anymore. It was the stylist who left it like that. He was tired of fixing the mistakes of others instead of worrying about his own. Whatever happened, it wasn’t his job to fix it. There were worse things at hand, like the quickening thump of his heartbeat and the cold sweat drying on the nape of his neck.

He glanced at his wristwatch.

His live interview was exactly twenty-three minutes away.

His stomach jumped in unwanted anticipation and goose bumps ran through his legs, his toes curling in his shoes. The only one and current task on his mind was to rehearse the very deliberate speech detailing the reasons of his sudden five-month hiatus and his plans for the future in the hopes it would tie a pretty bow on his skyrocketing career.

That, and to remember to smile at the camera like he used to, like he meant it, like he wasn’t looking at faceless, fickle supporters. Like he was looking at deep, dark eyes; long, thick eyelashes; a charming, lopsided smirk—

There was movement beside him. Akechi dragged his eyes from his sad looks to the reflection of the living apotheosis of all those things.

Next to him, Akira rested a hand on the edge of the countertop, keeping the other on his waist.

“It’s a good look,” he said. “Go out like that. Show ‘em the new you.”

Akechi huffed a laugh. “I’d rather die.”

_Ah, shit._

_‘Arrest me’_  jokes were fine if Akira was fine with them. Even after so many months, and perhaps no matter how many more passed,  _‘die’_  jokes were still uncharted territory for Akechi.  _Ha._

He sighed.

“I’m sorr—”

“It’s not that bad.” Akira leaned down then, his face right next to Akechi’s, their eyes never leaving each other’s reflections.

Because of the foundation on his face, Akechi’s skin looked a few shades lighter than Akira’s, and just a bit more evened out. Akira had nothing to be jealous about, though, and never had. His skin was elastic, soft, and filled in all the right places.

“I know,” Akira said suddenly.

“Hm?”

Akechi turned to his side to look at him directly at the same time Akira did, and then Akira was tilting his head up and pressing his mouth, full and firm and nicely against Akechi’s bare forehead.

Akechi wasn’t sure if he stayed completely still or leaned into the kiss, wanting those lips to stay and Akira’s chin to keep fitting perfectly against the slope of his nose.

Akira’s kisses were as enticing as they were lingering, like coffee on the tongue.

The ghost of it on him remained even as he began to pull back.

When their eyes met again, Akechi felt a hand gliding up his neck until it buried into his hair and Akira started dragging his fingers slow and steady up and down the back of his head.

“Much better.”

Akechi just stared dumbly, highly aware of his face growing hot and the pitiful, little ‘ _hn_ ’ sound that came from his throat, but also of the tension in his limbs unwinding.

“The Goro look,” Akira concluded.

He moved to straighten up then, but Akechi’s hand reached for whatever it could grasp to prevent it, finding Akira’s locks and yanking his head down a bit too desperately.

Akira winced, but he had his lower lip bitten in a grin.  _That rascal._  “Ouch?”

“C-could you...”

Akira blinked at him curiously.

Akechi brought him in, closing what little distance was between them to press their foreheads together. “Stay,” he said, firmly. “Until the interview.”

It wasn’t a question, but the soothing smile he got in return and which spoke for itself wasn’t unwelcome. “Sure.”

Distantly, he felt some of Akira’s fuzzy hair catch in the sweat of his fingers as he released him before curling his hand behind Akira’s neck.

Akira was still raking his fingers across his scalp, slowly. “How much time until your interview?”

“Twenty minutes.”

Akira pressed forward, their noses bumping. “Does the door lock from the inside?”

“It’s already locked.”

Akechi’s thumb found Akira’s cheek, felt it stretch and push up when Akira’s smile turned cheeky.

“Great.”

**Author's Note:**

> PS: that stylist ships them so she took her sweet time to let them have a moment. Also I'm sorry if you had to google Tintin omg.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! ( ˊᵕˋ )  
> Wowie this was my first time writing these two, so don't hesitate to tell me what you think ♥ I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> twitter: [@melonsflesh](https://twitter.com/melonsflesh)


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